


But the Lining is Silver

by Jaelijn



Series: A Heart to Hold [9]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Acephobia, Adventure, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Avon, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Avon/Vila, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Season/Series 02, Trope Subversion/Inversion, but in the context of this fic series in particular, no actual sex whatsoever in the fic, note the rating and read the author's note for more details on the warnings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: To pull off a trade, Blake needs someone to prove that the rebellion shares certain values, and who better for that thanLiberator's resident couple? But, as ever, things don't go according to plan.





	But the Lining is Silver

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, another instalment for my series based around the headcanon that Avon is on the asexual spectrum! All instalments are enjoyable as standalones or in sequence.
> 
> You'll note that this fic has the highest rating in this series, and the highest rating when it comes to my fics in general. In general fandom context, it probably would only be a "Teen and Up", but in the frame of this series I wanted to rate it higher, as it is probably the darkest of the series and contains actual discussions of sex. The rating is there for mentions of how Avon and Vila handle sex between them, for references acephobic comments/concepts and for the "Referenced Rape" tag. To be perfectly clear, there is no rape and no consensual "on screen" sex either in this fic, but if you need more details on the warnings and the "Referenced Rape" tag in particular, please refer to the end notes. 
> 
> As always, all titles of this series are inspired by lyrics of Poets of the Fall. They no longer have their lyrics on their website, but this is from their newest single, Dancing on Broken Glass. 
> 
> Please enjoy this long overdue continuation! :) I look forward to reading your comments!

Avon knew something was up when Blake teleported back on board with a shifty look already on his face. “What is it now?”

“Nothing so dramatic, Avon, don’t worry.” Blake stepped out of the teleport alcove, leaning onto the console and into Avon’s space. Avon resisted the urge to lean back in turn.  

“Is Vila awake?” Blake asked.           

“Is he ever? What do you need him for?” Surely it wasn’t burglary – the Masnachi were neutral traders with a reputation for absolute trust in the fairness and openness of their trading partners, to the point where they thought it unnecessary to lock their doors. How they had survived for so long Avon really had no idea.

Blake shook his head. “Not just him. I need both of you.”

Avon raised an eyebrow. They desperately needed fresh supplies – not food, they had unprocessed protein for years, but medical supplies and spare parts. The _Liberator_ could be convinced to accept additional systems, and Zen could access them, but they remained excluded from the self-repair circuit, much to Avon’s annoyance. He had tried to find a work-around, but it was starting to look impossible. If any of them broke down – and some adjustments he had made were _very_ essential – they needed to be repaired the old-fashioned way.

Avon activated the communications. “Vila, get down here for a moment, would you?”

“Why?”

Avon looked up at Blake.

Blake, taking the cue, jumped in: “I need you and Avon to come to the planet with me, Vila. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Vila grumbled something unintelligible, but Avon knew he would be down soon enough.

“Not so fair and open after all, are they?” he asked Blake, finally leaning back on the teleport bench.

“Open enough – they have certain values they hold very highly.”

“How virtuous of them. I did wonder at their survival rate.”

“We need those supplies, Avon.”

“Yes, I know. I hope you don’t plan to present Vila and me as your model followers?”

To Avon’s horror, Blake smiled at that. “Something of the sort.”

“Something of what?” Vila asked, coming down the steps to the teleport room. He evidently hadn’t rushed and had at least had the foresight of picking up two guns and his tools along the way.

“The Masnachi value very highly what they call _bonds_ ,” Blake explained.

“Bonds?”

“Intimate relationships between adults, I’ve been told. I was asked to provide proof that the rebellion shares these values.” Blake glanced between them. “It’s only a formality, so I told them there was a bonded pair on my ship at this very moment. They want to meet you.”

Avon glanced to Vila, who looked about as startled as Avon felt and had frozen in the middle of tightening his belt. “Meet _us_?”

“You told them about our relationship without even consulting us?” Avon turned back to Blake, barely reigning in a glare. “Didn’t it occur to you that you might have asked Jenna or Cally to join you and present a more… conventional _bond_?”

Blake wasn’t fazed. “They are an enlightened people, Avon; they don’t place any restrictions on the gender of the participants in a _bond_ – nor their number, as a matter of fact. And I would have asked first if I’d known they would want to meet you.”

“But of course you didn’t think to ask the particulars before volunteering us.” Avon finally stood, taking the second weapon from Vila. “Very well. _Only_ because they have parts we urgently need, Blake.”

Blake turned away with a nod, then swung back around. “Oh, and – no weapons.”

“What!” Vila squawked immediately, followed by: “I don’t like this, Avon.”

Avon had known, of course, that Blake had gone down without a gun, but that was _Blake_ – far too trusting, far too ready to believe that people were essentially good – and the Masnachi did have a reputation for peacefulness, feeding right into Blake’s unflappable need to believe the best of people. Avon himself was far less inclined to trust strangers. “Why no weapons?” he asked.

“Because nobody is allowed to carry a weapon on Masnachu – it is one of the measures they have in place to assure the peace,” Blake said, with that tone of voice that indicated that his patience was wearing thin. “There is no danger, Avon – and we won’t be down long.”

“Is it safe?” Vila asked, brow crinkling with worry.

Avon sighed and unbuckled the belt again. “Probably not, but if I can’t fix the detectors, it will be even less _safe_ , even up here.” He held his hand out for Vila’s gun. “It’s not like _you_ are much good with a weapon anyway.”

 Vila shot him a lopsided grin, but it was quickly overtaken by nervous worry. “Are you sure about this, Blake? We might not quite be what they’re expecting.”

That, at last, made Blake frown. “Well, you two might want to act a little more… affectionate.”

Avon just bared his teeth at him. “Regretting your choice already, Blake?”

“We _need_ those parts, Avon.” Blake stepped around him to Orac, sliding the key in place. “Orac, operate the teleport, will you?”

There was no reply.

“Orac!”

“Yes, yes.”

“No protests?”

“Even a menial task is of more interest than our present location. Are you ready?”

“You’d think Orac was bored,” Vila said, bumping into Avon as they stepped back onto the platform.

“Ready, Orac.”

 

The teleport set them down outside the main market – for all that Blake trusted in the traders’ peacefulness, he hadn’t wanted to reveal their teleport capability. Anyone arriving from a ship would, naturally, come from outside the densely inhabited areas, where there was enough space to set down a shuttle or small space craft.

All things considered, Avon didn’t mind the opportunity to stretch his legs. He felt strangely left-footed without a weapon – curious how quickly he had got used to that – but he did his best to squash down the unease, at least for as long as he was given no cause for it other than habit. Masnachu had a pleasant climate, warm enough that Vila rolled up his sleeves, and the air seemed fresh and unpolluted, a light breeze carrying the smell of spices from the market. Perhaps, now that they were down here, they could at least find something fresh to eat.

“It’s this way,” Blake said, taking the lead with his usual pomp and the confidence of knowing his way around.

Avon let him stride ahead, falling in step with Vila.

“This is nice,” Vila remarked, gaze darting here and there, taking everything in.

The Masnachi, though no longer technically nomadic, still lived in mobile homes, large structures of dull metal alloy in a wide variety of shapes and often painted in all sorts of colours. Some of them vaguely resembled space ships; others had been extended with tents – both for the purpose of additional living space and to display their trading goods. And they traded _everything_. Masnachu had gained a reputation as a freetraders’ paradise, but because the Masnachi were entirely indiscriminate about who they traded with as long as their rules were followed and their neutrality respected, the Federation had let them be. If you needed something, anything, chances were that a Masnachi could get it for you – at a price, of course. Jenna had cautioned Blake against giving them anything that might do harm if it ended up in the Federation’s hands eventually, but with a hold full of valuables, they weren’t short on trading materials.

Vila let out a low whistle, his avaricious gaze caught on the jewels displayed under the sagging roof of a tent they were passing. The gems shone in the sunlight like so many little stars. “I wouldn’t mind coming here for a holiday.”

“I don’t think the Masnachi would have use for either of our talents, Vila.” _Or much respect_ , Avon thought.

“We could _buy_ something for a change. Something nice. ‘s not like we’re short on money.”

“No, I suppose we aren’t.” Not that either of them would touch the millions they had made in Freedom City, as long as Avon had any say in the matter – if Blake needed them down here, it would be Blake who was paying – or the _Liberator_ , as it may be. It still rankled that Blake had appropriated that wealth for his cause, along with the ship.

“This is it,” Blake said suddenly, slowing down as they approached the first permanent structure they had come across – a low, one-storey building that would have merged with the sandy ground if it had not been painted in all colours of the rainbow, swirling patterns chasing themselves across the walls. Avon found the patterns too psychedelic and dizzying, but he supposed there was no arguing about taste.

Blake went to knock on the door, and Avon offered his hand out to Vila. “They might like to see some public display of affection.”

Vila’s eyes twinkled, and Avon had the suspicion he might never live this down. “Aww, Avon, I didn’t think you’d be one to hold hands.” Vila threaded his fingers through Avon’s – familiar calluses brushing over his skin. Vila was teasing, of course – they had often entwined their hands when they fell asleep together, but never like this, as a sort of public statement. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Avon couldn’t claim it felt fully natural either.

There was finally a response to Blake’s knocking, an elderly Masnachi opening the door. “Ah, Roj! A pleasure to see you back!” The man stepped aside, waving them into the cool, shady interior. Like all Masnachi of this southern region, their host was dark-skinned, irregular patterns of lighter skin winding up his throat, and dressed in the traditional multi-coloured tunic and trousers. If he’d stood in front of the mural paintings outside, he might all but become invisible, Avon thought, not entirely charitably.

The interior of the house itself, mercifully, was less colourful. The walls were sand-coloured, broken up by sitting recesses and an eclectic collection of greenery. It gained a strange, otherworldly beauty from the ceiling shafts that allowed in the sunlight. The shafts were arranged in a spiral pattern, converging on a courtyard area to which their host lead them. The courtyard was exposed to the air, though a light tarpaulin provided some shade from above. There were pillow seats, and soon they had all settled down, their host glancing with curiosity at Avon and Vila.

“Marin, may I introduce Avon and Vila?” Blake said. “Marin has been kind enough to negotiate with the traders on our behalf.”

No matter what Blake thought of these people, Marin’s scrutiny was uncomfortable, and Avon felt out of his element. His relationship with Vila had no place in the public eye – it was dangerous should word get to the Federation, for one thing – and Avon bristled at being a simple bargaining chip. If it had at least been their skills they were bargaining with! As it was, the whole affair felt voyeuristic, and Avon wanted it over with. He couldn’t help the tension that crept up his back.

Vila squeezed his hand, trapping it the very moment that Avon had been trying to pull away. Vila levelled a forced smile at Marin. Pulling himself together, Avon managed a nod. If Vila’s past comments were anything to go by, he probably wouldn’t impress their host with a false attempt at a smile.

“Ah, we… have been forced to keep private matters out of the public eye,” Blake said, haltingly, shooting Avon a sharp glance, “but as you can see we value them just as highly.”

Marin smiled brightly. “Of course, I understand, Roj! I can see you spoke the truth. I shall arrange for the supplies to be gathered for you.”

Avon nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

“In the meantime, I would be honoured if the bond partners would remain as my guests. It is tradition to celebrate bonds with a meal and a night in the council house – I should like to offer it to you, though you are strangers, as recompense for having to hide the bond so often.”

 So much for that. Avon swallowed the relief, trying not to scowl at the bitter taste it left behind.

Blake, at last, looked actively uneasy. “I don’t know that we have the time, Marin.”

“Oh, it will take at least the night to find all supplies. Avon and Vila will be afforded full privacy. That _is_ the way of the tradition.”

Avon pushed himself to his feet, pulling Vila with him. “A word, Blake?”

Blake nodded. “Please excuse us for a moment, Marin.”

The Masnachi smiled sweetly, only deepening Avon’s distaste. “Of course.”

Out of earshot in a shadowed corner near the entrance, Avon allowed his scowl to emerge, though he kept his voice prudently low. Even now, he could feel Marin’s stare on them. “You cannot expect us to go through with this, Blake!”

It was little consolation that Blake didn’t look exactly happy. “Marin has been very helpful. We won’t get half the supplies without his support. You know as well as I do that we might not find these parts elsewhere for months, if ever.”

“And you presume Marin will be mortally insulted if we decline? I know you think this planet is safe, but you cannot seriously expect Vila and me to spend the night without so much as a weapon? It would take pursuit ships less time than that to arrive.”

“The Masnachi have no dealings with the Federation.”

“No – Orac said they are not _affiliated_ with the Federation, maintaining perfect neutrality. It’s not quite the same thing.” They would have their teleport bracelets, of course, but the Masnachi’s level of technology was hard to estimate. There might be shielding devices, and then they would be trapped. “I want you to talk him out of this, Blake.”

“I’m not sure that I can. The Masnachi value their hospitality highly, and if not for this _bond_ , I doubt Marin would have been able to do anything for us. He has been very supportive, and we are protected by this neutrality as much as anyone else. This might well be our only chance at a deal – if we offend him…”

“So you are willing to risk our lives on your judgement of a stranger’s character? Are you perfectly sure about this, Blake?”

“Avon, ‘s only a meal and one night,” Vila put in. “How bad can it be? It might be fun. Imagine the food – and the bedding!”

“On our own terms, maybe. This…”

But Vila had been seduced by the hedonistic delights the trading goods outside had promised. If there was anything that overwrote Vila’s habitual cowardice, it was a chance at some luxury, especially if he could steal it first, but he’d take it if it was on offer. “You heard him; full privacy. It’ll just be the two of us.”

The beds on the _Liberator_ were nice enough, but narrow and without much finesse – as was the food. Avon found himself looking at Vila – the thief’s eyes were gleaming, and Avon sighed, not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed that Vila read him so easily on occasion. “Very well. But it is a risk, and I expect _Liberator_ to remain on alert.”

Blake looked far too pleased for his own good, an unholy gleam in his eyes that he had been getting lately, whenever he caught Avon and Vila together. “You have your bracelets, of course.”

“I don’t plan on taking it off, Blake. Just make sure there’s someone at the teleport if we need to get out of here in a hurry.”

Blake just laughed, as if he had heard something in Avon’s words that he hadn’t intended, and turned back to give their decision to Marin.

Vila hooked his arm into Avon’s and settled his head on Avon’s shoulder. “I bet everyone will be jealous when they hear about the food. Did you notice those spices?”

“You have to stop thinking with your stomach, Vila.”

“Well, you ought to be thinking more with yours. If you didn’t have me, you’d _forget_ eating half of the time!”

He wasn’t wrong. Avon didn’t intentionally skip meals, or even habitually, but if he was otherwise occupied, it tended to slip his mind until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. By that time, Vila had often already noticed and gone to fetch them a snack – for Vila, no excuse for indulgence was too small.

Blake returned with Marin in tow. “I’ll leave you with Marin, then, and come to find to you in the morning.”

Avon didn’t even attempt to hide his scowl, this time. “You better.”

“Relax, Avon! And enjoy yourselves. Marin, I will see you in the morning as well.” Blake shook the trader’s hand and slipped out the door.

Marin turned his attention to Avon and Vila immediately. _Diplomat_ , Avon thought. He knew the type – always friendly and insincere to the point of an outright lie. If Orac hadn’t confirmed the Masnachi’s neutrality, Avon would never have agreed to this. He wouldn’t have trusted Marin as far as to turn his back on him for even so much as a second.

“Roj explained how strange this must be for you,” the Masnachi said, “so I won’t intrude myself any longer. We consider bond partnerships very important; it fills me with great sadness that they cannot be celebrated as we do everywhere. Please follow me.”

Marin lead them to an annex at the rear of the building, where he excused himself – apparently, the corridors were only to be traversed by bond partners. There would be a gong to call them to dinner – served in the room to the left – and if they would care to relax in the sitting room to the right in the meantime?

The ‘sitting room’, it turned out, was also a bedroom, the bed itself dominating the space. Vila gleefully hopped onto the mattress, finding it bouncy, which only broadened his grin. “Pillow fight, Avon?” he asked, with a glance at the various shapes and sizes of pillows that decorated the room – some clearly designed as seats like the ones they had used earlier, others purely for comfort. At least the colours weren’t quite so overwhelming – there were still erratic patterns and bright shades, but they had been tastefully combined, contrasting the overwhelming show of opulence outside.

Avon settled down on a large pillow that adapted to his shape – really, something he could have enjoyed on the _Liberator_ – and mutely shook his head to Vila’s question. Perhaps he was being a fool, but he had learned his lesson when it came to relying on strangers, especially if they were in the trading business. He had let his guard down back then, and the consequences had been disastrous. Avon didn’t think of himself as someone who blithely made the same mistake twice.

“Aww, no,” Vila murmured, the cheer fading from his voice. “You’re going to be tense and pensive all night, aren’t you? I know that look.” Vila clambered off the bed and pulled over a little pillow seat to settle by Avon. “Do you think Marin was lying?” he asked, voice serious for once.

Avon thought back to the encounter. Marin’s friendliness might have been over the top – positively saccharine, really – but there had been no overt indication that he wished them ill. Perhaps Avon should have expected nothing less from that late and very much unlamented black market forger than what he had got, and the situations were not comparable – the Malachni might be neutral traders, but they conducted their business out in the open and had no reputation for violence. But then again, there hadn’t been any indication of ill intent with Tynus either. Avon had considered him a _friend_ , and he had still betrayed them. He sighed. “Don’t take the bracelet off, and no alcohol, Vila.”

Predictably, Vila didn’t like that, despite his own sense of caution. “Aw, come on! Just a little drink!”

“No. Keep alert. Our lives might depend on it.”

“Very well, if it makes you happy. Now can you relax a little? There’s nothing else to do.”

 

Dinner came along sooner than expected and turned out to be almost a banquette. Avon hadn’t seen this much freshly prepared food since he had moved into his own flat – and even before that, ordinary family dinners had been much simpler. Vila was happily chatting away about the dinners of his extended family back on Earth – before he’d taken off on his own, too – but Avon was only listening with half an ear. The food was extraordinarily delicious. Perhaps it was because he had got used to the blandness of meals on the _Liberator_ , but the flavours and spices and smells and the pure _taste_ of it all was overwhelming. There was every selection of beverages, too, and even while staying off the alcohol, Vila was on his eighth sample by the time they took a last plate with snacks and one bottle with two glasses back to the bedroom.

“I could get used to this,” Vila said with a sigh, settling into a nest of pillows. “It’s almost like–”

“If you were going to say ‘honeymoon’…”

“Well, we are _bond_ partners, aren’t we? Besides, you must have been thinking it, too; you said it first. You need to learn to enjoy the little things, Avon.”

“ _You_ need to learn to be more suspicious of strangers who offer you food.” As a matter of fact, Avon had rather enjoyed the dinner. Tynus’s attempt to drug them had been blatantly obvious, and while Marin might have been insincere, he hadn’t seemed anywhere close as insidious as Tynus had always been, and he stood to make a profit, after all, from their trade. The food _had_ probably been safe, and he was being overly suspicious. Regardless, Avon had enjoyed the evening more than he had expected to – and felt more relaxed than he ought, considering the foreign and potentially dangerous environment. “I’m surprised you can still walk. And still eat!” he added when Vila picked up a pastry.

“Have to eat my fill, don’t I? It’s not like we get food like this every day, is it?”

“True.”

“Do you think we could get Marin to organise some of these pillows for us to take back? Shame the bed won’t fit.”

“Hm, well, you get to enjoy it for one night.” Avon wandered over to the bed, running a hand over the covers. It _was_ an improvement from the materials on the _Liberator_. “Vila?” Avon turned back when he received no answer, and found Vila hastily crossing his legs, face flushed. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yeh, uh… jus’ aroused. Must have been the spices.”

It was easy to forget sometimes – Vila _made_ it easy to forget – that Vila was sexually attracted to him. The thief didn’t bring the topic up if he could help it, and whenever Avon noticed Vila was always quick to assure him that they didn’t need to do anything, that he didn’t mind. It felt comfortable, and they negotiated it easily enough, even when Avon was not at all inclined to help Vila out, which was often. The activity seemed like such a waste of time, all in all, when they could instead enjoy the closeness, fully aware of each other rather than partially lost in a hormonal rush.

Vila shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Sorry, Avon.”

Avon had made it clear before that Vila oughtn’t apologise to him about natural bodily functions, but it seemed to be a lost cause with the thief. “As long as we’re clear that nothing is going to happen, certainly not _here_. Though if you need to…”

Vila shook his head. “Don’t want anything to happen either. This doesn’t feel nice.” Vila stood and started pacing. “Must have been something I ate, and you didn’t.”

“Something you drank more likely.”

“Well it’s not normal, not like this! I’m too old for this!”

“Do you want me to call the _Liberator_?” Avon asked, only half serious, and allowed himself a grin when Vila actually blushed.

“No! Let’s just talk about something else.”

Their conversations bounced aimlessly between topics, and Vila gradually looked more sleepily than wound up. Avon, too, felt tired – doubtless it was the amount of food, and the inviting, comfortable bed within easy reach.

“We might as well turn in,” he told Vila, taking off his jacket and boots. It would be peculiar, sleeping with the teleport bracelet, _if_ he slept at all in the strange location. Marin had been true to his word as far as it went – no one had intruded upon them, and they had had all the time to themselves. As engaging aimless conversation could be, it might have improved the evening if they’d had anything to occupy themselves – a board game, chess even, or something to read: Vila had a surprisingly lovely reading voice. With their conversational topics exhausted, looping around in circles, it seemed a shame to avoid the bed for much longer.

Vila was happy enough to slide under the covers, eyes already heavy lidded. Avon curled onto his side, vaguely disliking the fact that the bed was freestanding and his back exposed – until Vila slipped his arm around him and their breathing fell into sync. Avon fell asleep before he could notice trying.

Later, much later, Avon would muse on how extraordinarily coincidental that was.

 

He woke up abruptly – finding a figure leaning over him and making a grab for his wrists. Avon twisted immediately, ramming his knee into the stranger’s stomach, dislodging him – it was darker than it should have been; somewhere to his right Vila gave a startled yelp – Avon reached for his bracelet, finding it gone, and then the stranger – strangers, there were at least two – were on him again – strong, able-bodied fighters, far less disorientated and groggy still from sleep – one of them caught Avon’s arm, and wrenched it upwards, jamming it between his shoulder blades – Avon kicked out, but his feet were knocked away and it was over as suddenly as it had begun.

Avon found himself on the ground thoroughly winded, a scattered pillow inches from his face. His legs were pinned by some heavy weight – the second attacker, probably – and the first pressed his right wrist up high between his shoulder blades, calmly gathering up Avon’s flailing left arm as well.

From somewhere from the other side of the bed, Avon could hear a grunt and a pained whimper – Vila. He tried to dislodge the strangers, but couldn’t even twist. Something cold and uncomfortable closed around his wrists, binding them together – some type of manacle which tightened even as the one attacker removed his hands.

“Feet, too,” said a male voice somewhere behind him – somehow too high and incongruous with the burly shape of his attackers, but none that was familiar. Avon tried to shift to catch a glimpse, but a hand between his shoulder blades immediately and brutally pressed him back down.

He couldn’t exactly feel the manacles, or whatever they were, over his trousers, but when his legs were abruptly yanked together by the ankle, he knew there’d be no chance of an easy escape. He could barely draw breath against the weight pressing his chest to the ground anyway.

“What do you want?” Vila’s voice, plaintive – at least he was still conscious. The question had been on the tip of Avon’s tongue, but he hadn’t expected an answer, even if he had been able to catch enough breath to ask – and there was none. With a weight still pinning his legs Avon could do nothing but jerk when a hand twisted in his hair, yanking his head to the side, and then there was the pinprick pain and hiss of an injector just below his ear. The room spun and his senses faded out.

He was still conscious – still aware – but within moments of injection, his sight grew spotted with blackness, and finally, no matter how much he blinked, there was nothing but darkness. Moments later, his hearing, too, was gone, and all he could still listen to was his own ragged breathing. He could still feel – he was being moved, carried, where, he had no idea – _so much for Blake’s trust!_ – but most of his mind was occupied with fighting down the surges of wild panic. Federation drugs, familiar enough – drugs used in interrogation. Whoever their assailants were, they had access to Federation interrogation drugs, and that didn’t bode well for them at all. Still, what use was panic? They had him, whoever they were – and Vila, too – utterly, entirely and completely at their mercy.

Without sight and sound, Avon found it impossible to estimate how far they – he, at least, he couldn’t even be sure Vila was still with him – were taken, how long they travelled. The space he was eventually dumped in felt cool and uncomfortable. Blindly, Avon jerked against the unseen hands, bumping his shoulder and head against a rough wall behind him. His wrists were freed and efficiently retied in front, there were some testing jerks at the manacles, and then there was nothing for a long time.

Avon shifted, exploring the limits of his bonds, and discovered a fresh chain linking the binding between his wrists to the one at his feet. His hearing was returning – he could hear the clink of the chain links as he ran testing fingers over them, but he could find no way to free himself, not without a fine tool – there had been one in his right boot, but of course he had taken that off to sleep. Besides, his sight remained terrifyingly black. After a while, sure that his hearing was back to normal, he tried a soft, questioning “Vila?” into the darkness, but there was no answer. He had heard no movement other than his own, but there was always a chance that he was still not alone. His captors might have left – or at least he thought they had, but if Vila had been drugged as he had been, he might have found it better to remain motionless, unsure of his situation. But there was no response. If Vila was with him, he was keeping very quiet – if he had heard Avon’s call at all.

The chain looped between his ankles and wrists was too short to allow him to stand with any comfort, not that he could see where to walk, so Avon resigned himself to the wait. When the drug finally wore off fully, his vision clearing gradually, he found himself alone in a barren and dimly illuminated room, barely large enough to pace three steps – not that he would be doing any pacing. He had been dumped against the far wall, and it seemed to be carved into the rock – probably underground. The temperature on Masnachu fell at night, but even so the room had the different coolness of a cavern under the surface. A cellar of some sort, perhaps, with the only light filtering in from under the heavy door. Avon shifted uncomfortably, using his shoulder to manoeuvre himself into a half-sitting position, his knees drawn towards his chest. He might be able to make a spectacle of himself and try to reach the door – but the way he was bound, he couldn’t reach the handle, and the door was unlikely to be unlocked anyways. There was no Vila, and no teleport bracelet either, and he had no idea what time it even was. Would Blake be looking for them already? It had still seemed to be night when they were attacked, but the room had also been darker than when they had gone to bed – Vila liked the half-light, so they had opened the curtains behind which they’d found a row of windows set near the ceiling, to let some of the light of the Masnachi camp into the room. Their captors, whoever they were, had clearly taken their time to make sure that the room was fully dark before laying hand on them. If Avon had still had any doubt left that the attack was premeditated, that realisation would have eliminated the last shred.

Avon thought himself a light sleeper, if he slept at all – there had to have been something in the dinner. Not just something to cause arousal for Vila, but some drug to make them fall asleep easily and deeply. Even if Avon’s tension had exhausted him beyond the usual and Vila’s presence had been a welcome comfort, Vila himself didn’t sleep heavily in potentially hostile environments. Oh, he slept _everywhere_ , but he could be awoken at a tingle of a breeze – a skill hard earned in a prison environment. For their attackers to have got this far they must have both been out of it. Avon muttered a curse, and settled in to wait once more. What else was there to do?

 

~oOo~

 

This wasn’t the honeymoon Vila had hoped for, but he supposed with Avon as a partner and their current company he should have expected something like this. Vila shuffled, trying to find a more comfortable position. He wasn’t sure what happened to Avon since they’d taken him away – the worry was quite persistent and caught Vila by surprise with its intensity. Avon could take care of himself; there was no reason to get all worked up. Still, something about the fact that they had been captured not during a life and death mission, where Vila had come to anticipate the risk, but sleeping together, where he felt _safe,_ made all the difference. Vila just hoped that whatever they’d injected Avon with that had made him look so limp and lifeless hadn’t been poison.

Vila squirmed a little and finally freed one hand from the ropes their attackers had used to bind him – sloppy work, it was. They’d probably thought because Vila hadn’t struggled much they needn’t bind him too tightly, but Vila knew a trick or two with ropes. The binding fell completely away once Vila had got one hand free, and he pushed himself up to start picking at the ropes around his ankles. He had a microprobe tucked into his shoe, but he hadn’t been given a chance to put those on and they were sitting at the foot of the bed, half-way across the room. Scooting over there would have been a waste of time. Good thing it was that Vila wasn’t in the habit of sleeping entirely in the nude when he was with Avon – nor when he was somewhere that wasn’t home – or this might have been embarrassing.

Free, Vila thought about retrieving the probe – but there might be surveillance devices monitoring the bedroom. They hadn’t spotted anything the evening before, when Avon had done an examination, but if their attackers had had the time to remove their teleport bracelets without waking them, they might also have had the time to hide a surveillance device to keep an eye on Vila. They’d just left Vila on the floor right where they’d dropped him when they’d taken Avon away, but Vila had heard a bolt falling shut behind them. It was strange that they hadn’t noticed the bolt the evening before, but perhaps it had been removed to lure them in, to make them think the room was safe. Vila checked the door anyway, once he’d got some feeling back into his legs – not a chance of breaking through there.

He went for a walk around the room. He didn’t find any surveillance and finally sat on the bed to think. Blake had said these people were trustworthy. Perhaps there had been a mix-up? There wasn’t much Vila could try from where he was, and he wasn’t sure whether he _should_. If there’d been a misunderstanding, anything he did might make it worse – and they had Avon.

Growing bored, he was finally trying to see whether the windows, high up under the ceiling, might be of any use – to communicate, to escape – when the bolt was noisily removed. Vila scrambled down from the tower of pillow seats he’d piled up as a ladder and stood facing the door when it opened.

“Blake!”

Blake looked grim and tired. “Vila, what the hell happened?” He sounded as though it was somehow Vila’s fault.

“What happened?! We were attacked in the middle of the night and they dragged Avon off somewhere and locked me in here! That’s what happened.”

Blake’s frown only deepened. “I spoke to Marin. He says I lied to him about the bond. You have caused a major diplomatic incident, Vila – apparently the _bond_ is very sacred, and he had to inform the Guardians – some sort of religious, law-enforcing group. They are refusing to let you leave and they are refusing to trade.”

“What? But we didn’t do anything! Do you even know what happened to Avon? They gave him some sort of drug…”

“I haven’t seen Avon.” Blake began a tight, angry circle of pacing. “Marin assures me he is fine – but the punishment for lying about the _bond_ is apparently severe, Vila. What in the world did you both do?”

“Nothing! I swear, Blake, we didn’t do anything weird. And we weren’t lying, either, you know we weren’t! Can’t you convince them that it was some sort of misunderstanding? There must be some way Avon and I can prove that we weren’t lying, right?”

Blake stopped pacing. “Maybe, if you sure you didn’t…”

“Or you could just give us a teleport bracelet, eh? Get me and Avon out of here?”

“No.” Blake squared his shoulders. “I didn’t bring any extra bracelets. We can’t afford to lose these supplies, Vila. I’ll talk to Marin. He has been reasonable so far, perhaps I can convince him.”

“I’ll come with you, then?”

“No, Vila. Wait here.” Blake turned towards the door.

“And what about Avon?”

“He’ll be fine. Wait here, Vila, and don’t try anything else.”

Vila couldn’t exactly claim that that answer was satisfactory, but there seemed to be little he could do. If Blake didn’t come back with news, he could always still try to break out and go search for Avon himself – he’d done it before, after all. For now, he flopped back down on the bed, trying not to miss Avon’s warmth, and escaped into his memories…

 

_Having a sex life with Avon was nothing at all like Vila had expected. In his wildest, enjoyable but entirely unattainable fantasies, back when he thought he’d never dare ask Avon out, Vila had dreamed of an Avon whose presence in bed was overwhelming, powerful – an Avon who would take charge, regardless of position, who would wrap Vila up in the force of his personality, pulling the all too willing Vila along in his wake. And since it was his fantasy, Vila had never had to entertain the thought of the darker reality of having an overly domineering partner like that. Vila didn’t go in for pain._

_Then, when Avon had told him that he was asexual, Vila had wondered whether Avon might like things that… well, were said to make sex a bit more interesting, even as he learned that Avon was an astonishingly gentle – even vulnerable – partner with a delightfully mischievous streak. Vila had been trying to wrap his head around how a man who could sit still and study computer circuits for hours on end could describe sex, of all things, as “a tedious waste of time” that was “always underwhelming and frequently boring, not to mention awkward and messy.” Vila got far enough with his enquiry to figure out that, yes, Avon found physical stimulation not entirely abhorrent, even quite enjoyable under the right circumstances, but he saw no reason why partnered sex should be of any significance. Vila knew that Avon knew that the sensations were pleasant. Avon had even acknowledged, intellectually, that he could understand why people might find it more pleasurable with a partner than with the aid of their own hands, only that he, personally, didn’t see the need for it. Avon didn’t usually comment on sex at all – but Vila had asked his opinion, and Avon had all but told him that he considered sex more boring than those circuit boards._

_So, naturally, Vila had wondered whether some… embellishments might help. It wasn’t because Vila needed them to have sex or because he thought that it would be wrong if they_ never _had sex, but because Avon had indicated that he might be willing, for Vila’s sake. Vila had been trying to figure out whether there was anything that might it make more worthwhile for_ Avon _, sexual attraction or no. Vila wouldn’t have said no to sex, although he already couldn’t believe his luck at having Avon as a partner in the first place even without any of the sex he’d used to fantasise about. But he hadn’t felt comfortable having sex just for his own benefit – not without making sure he’d covered all of his bases to try and find something to give back to Avon. It seemed like an awfully one-sided deal, otherwise, even if Avon said that he was happy to do it._

 _Thankfully, Avon found it funny when Vila asked these kinds of questions. It has taken Vila a while to get over the fear that Avon was secretly laughing at him, but by now he was convinced that Avon was laughing at himself. Perhaps he enjoyed being the centre of curiosity. And no, Avon had said, he didn’t enjoy bondage or any other embellishments. When Vila, in frustration, had finally voiced his concern that he’d be having all the fun while Avon was somehow short-changed, and that he didn’t want to do it at all if that was the case, Avon had looked at him with a peculiar expression for a long moment. Then he’d pulled Vila close, wordlessly pressing kisses against his throat. It had felt like a_ thank you _._

 

~oOo~

 

Avon started out of a half-doze, having been lured into a drifting stupor by boredom and the constant chill, when the door opened with an enormous creak. Three people filed into the room. All were dressed in traditional Masnachi robes, like Marin had been, but something about theirs suggested… status, perhaps, or some distinguishing role.

Two immediately approached Avon, one taking hold of his arm while the other lengthened the chain between his wrists and ankles so he would be able to stand but not raise his wrists above hip-height. Then they hauled him to his feet between them. His legs protested straightening after so long bent at the knee, and for a moment Avon hung uselessly between them, drawing sharp staccato breaths against the cramps and trying to find the strength to support his own weight. His bare soles were scraping the cold, unforgivingly rough floor.

They waited for him in total silence, and only when he straightened up did the third Masnachi step forward. His robe was of a different colour than the others, of finer material – clearly some sort of leader. His white skin markings had been extended with paint, decorating his face in an intricate pattern. “You have been found guilty of blaspheming about the _bond_ ,” he said, in perfect Standard, but with a strangely sonorous voice.

Avon blinked. “What?”

“You lied, about being _bonded_ to the one you call Vila, and yet took advantage of the amenities – exclusive to bonded partners – offered so trustingly by one of our own. That is a grievous offense by our laws. The _bond_ is our highest value.”

Avon shuffled his feet, trying to get a better stance, to maybe shrug off the two silent guards – but the chain between his ankles was too short to allow much movement. “I didn’t lie about being bonded to Vila.”

The man’s eyes flared. “And you continue to deny it?”

Avon exhaled sharply, trying to think fast. “Vila and I _are_ bonded; we didn’t lie about that,” he said carefully. “However, we are not from Masnachu, and are unfamiliar with all details of your culture.  Perhaps there was some sort of a misunderstanding?” In his mind, he cursed Blake, for dragging them into this, for not doing his research properly – and himself, for not insisting to consult Orac about this matter of _bonds_ before walking straight into this mess. At least, he could hope that the Federation weren’t involved, after all. Not yet, anyway – the Masnachi might just decide that delivering them to their enemies might be an appropriate punishment.

But, to his surprise, the man – a priest, perhaps, or some sort of judge? – inclined his head in a nod. “That is what your leader Blake told us.”

Avon lifted his hands, shrugging against the hold of the other two and drawing attention to his chains. He hadn’t been released. That could _not_ be good. “Well?”

“ _Bond_ blasphemy is one of the worst offenses. It is punishable by torture and death. But Marin vouched for Blake, and we will offer you a chance to rectify this… misunderstanding. Blake has offered for you to provide proof of your bond, and we have accepted. Follow me.”

The man turned, heading out of the door at a brisk pace. The other two made to follow, pulling Avon along with them. He tried his best to keep up, but the chain hampered his stride, reducing his steps to an awkward shuffle. After only a short while, Avon was forced to let them drag him, especially as they reach the stairs. He bit his lip against a protest, though it hurt, bruising and scraping his feet. It wasn’t the first time he had been chained liked this, though generally the Federation preferred to make their prisoners walk to their fate under their own power, held implacably at gunpoint, but Avon couldn’t say that the experience improved with repetition. Fortunately, after the flight of stairs, it wasn’t much farther. Avon was shoved into a room not unlike the one they had occupied for the night, if much smaller – it, too, was dominated by a bed.

Hindered by the chains, Avon stumbled and fell, catching himself awkwardly on the mattress. The two guards retreated, leaving only the leader by the door. He made no move into the room, no indication that Avon would be released – but he did explain _exactly_ just what kind of proof they were expecting.

By the time Vila was brought into the room, Avon’s feelings had had time to move from raging anger over desperation to, very privately but undeniably, outright fear.

 

~oOo~

 

 _No, sex with Avon wasn’t anything like Vila had expected. It was always Avon that initiated, that much corresponded to Vila’s fantasies, but it was because Vila didn’t want to pressure Avon into anything, even though Avon had assured him, laughing, that nobody pressured him into anything if he didn’t want it. Still, Vila’d drop hints, some subtle and some really not, or say that he was in the mood, and then he’d let Avon take it from there. He was never disappointed if Avon did nothing, whether he chose to ignore the hints or turn Vila down flat – and neither was Vila disappointed if Avon did_ something _._

_In his fantasies, Vila had been safe, but he’d also usually thought of himself as sharing Avon’s pleasure and snatching some for himself on the side. In reality, Avon was as attentive during sex as he had proven as a partner. Quite possibly, he was the most attentive lover Vila had ever had, and if that wasn’t proof that sexual attraction was overrated, Vila didn’t know what would be. Everything seemed to be about Vila. Vila wasn’t used to so much conversation during sex, either, or to Avon’s peculiar, off-beat humour that he let emerge from under the sardonicism of his flight deck comments, which more often than not let to laughter – Vila’s, mostly;  Avon rarely fully laughed out loud. But still it was different, a pleasant novelty. Avon could make Vila feel like he was the centre of the universe, and the fact that Avon seemed to enjoy that immensely was like an aphrodisiac to Vila._

_There was also something to be said for the fact that Avon didn’t get carried away. Oh, he responded to the physical stimulation as much as anyone Vila had ever been with, but some of his previous partners had done things Vila hadn’t liked, in the heat of things, and Avon didn’t. Perhaps Avon just wasn’t like that, perhaps Vila’s previous partners hadn’t been all that great – perhaps Avon’s asexuality had nothing to do with this. Still, Vila knew that it had made Avon adamant about consent and he felt extraordinarily safe with him. If anything, Avon was_ too _cautious for Vila’s taste, always pausing to make sure that he did what Vila wanted and nothing he didn’t, when Vila was at the point where he just wanted him to_ get on with it _._

_Best, of course, were the times when Avon let Vila. Avon didn’t fantasise about Vila like that; Vila knew that and he didn’t much mind. It was just a fact of being with Avon, and Vila couldn’t claim to be able to guess what went on in Avon’s head anyway. Vila half-thought that he would have enjoyed it less, if he’d known that Avon was sexually attracted to him. That had been one of the drawbacks of the implications of his former fantasies, after all: Avon could be reticent about his feelings, and Vila might have wondered if all he was getting out of their relationship was some warm body to satisfy his needs, otherwise. But Avon had bothered with Vila without being drawn physically, and that meant everything to Vila. Avon trusting his physical pleasure to Vila’s hands was an extension of that promise. It was Avon acquiescing to do something he found boring because it was Vila he was doing it with. Having sex for Vila’s sake was just to make Vila happy, like quiet conversations, like games of chess and shared jokes. It was another thing entirely for Avon to let Vila take charge of his sexual responses. At first Vila had wondered whether it would bother him that it made no difference to Avon’s arousal that he was with Vila – until he realised that it did make a difference, not because Avon felt sexually attracted to him, but because if it hadn’t been Vila, Avon would never allow to be seen seeking physical release, let alone allow someone else to facilitate it._

_Early on, Vila had – unthinkingly in post-coital haze – quipped that sex wasn’t so boring after all. Avon had been… well, furious wasn’t quite the right word; Avon’s anger was cold and very quiet and with a portion of pain, and then he’d explained how previous would-be partners had tried to tempt him into bed by explaining that he wouldn’t find it boring if he only tried it, just once, that it wouldn’t be boring with_ them _, that if it had been boring with anyone else that was that other person’s fault and not_ normal _, that Avon would get over it if he tried it enough, all of which sounded abhorrent to Vila even if it hadn’t been spat out in Avon’s cold, clipped tones with their strangely brittle foundation. As a matter of fact, Avon found the rare instances of sexual attraction that he_ did _experience destabilising and unpleasant, and couldn’t understand why he should even want to gain something so distracting as a constant factor in his life – Avon had just wanted his experiences to be accepted, not viewed as something that needed to be_ fixed _._

 _Vila hadn’t meant it like that. He had only meant to express that he was glad that Avon had had fun – to which Avon had, rightly, commented why the hell Vila hadn’t said so. But on some level, Avon must have been aware that Vila had meant it differently – he had stayed and explained, and Vila didn’t get the impression that Avon had had as much patience with the potential partners who had said those nasty things. Avon might never have said it, but Vila was_ trusted.

 

The wait seemed unendingly long to Vila. There was nothing to do – and he daren’t do anything, now that Blake was out there negotiating, not until he knew that there was no hope and no rescue coming. What if he did something rash and then someone else did something rash and then someone – _Avon_ , his thoughts whispered – got hurt?

Suddenly, the door swung wide, and Vila hastily scrambled to his feet. There were two burly men in the door, with cold, expressionless faces, waiting.

“Uh. Hello?”

One of them gestured sharply towards them, out of the room. Vila hesitated. He’d never trusted that type of person – Federation thugs tended to be of that type, and nothing good had ever come from getting too close to them.

“Vila,” came Blake’s voice from behind the two men at that moment, his face only just visible between them. “They’ll take you to Avon. I managed to sort things; you get a second chance.”

“Oh. Right. That’s good, then,” Vila said, with a nervous smile, and inched closer. “Uh, lead on.”

The two guards boxed him in, leading him away down the corridor, away from Blake. Vila craned his neck, trying to read Blake’s expression, but he only caught a glimpse of him waiting beside Marin, watching as Vila was taking away.

They didn’t walk far – though far enough to raise Vila’s anxiety – and when they arrived, the guards wordlessly opened a door for Vila, herding him inside. Vila didn’t dare hesitate, but jumped when the door shut behind him all the same – even as he spotted Avon, standing uneasily beside a large bed.

Avon, with a peculiar expression flittering lightning-quick over his face, stood there barefoot, in the clothes they’d gone to sleep in and in chains, but otherwise unharmed.

“Vila!” Avon exclaimed in recognition, his posture relaxing just a fraction.

“Are you all right?!” 

“Sore and cold,” Avon said wearily, sinking back onto the mattress. He didn’t meet Vila’s gaze. “But they didn’t hurt me. You?”

“I was just made to wait.” Vila hurried over to him and pulled off his shoe to liberate the lock pick, surveillance be damned. He couldn’t let Avon sit there in chains when he could do something about them. Vila dropped to his knees, investigating the chain linking Avon’s wrists to his ankles, and when that yielded no immediate results, turned his attention to the ankle cuffs. “What is going on, Avon? Blake said–”

“You spoke to Blake?” Avon interrupted sharply.

“Well, yes, for a minute or two. He said they think we’re lying about the bond.”

Avon sighed. “Yes, that’s what they told me. I should never have allowed Blake to drag us into this.”

“I want to _leave_ , Avon.” Thankfully, Avon refrained from reminding him that it had been Vila who’d convinced him to stay.

 

~oOo~ 

 

Privately, Avon shared Vila’s sentiment, though he couldn’t bring himself to say so. He watched Vila’s deft fingers work on the manacles and wondered whether he would have to explain or whether Vila _knew._ Vila was usually refreshingly direct, but if there was anything he’d proven uncomfortable discussing outright, it was this. “I don’t suppose,” Avon said carefully, “that Blake gave you two teleport bracelets and offered to teleport us both out of here once you’d found me.”

Vila frowned. “No. Need the trades, don’t we? He said he’d convinced them to let us prove that we are bonded. It’s ridiculous! I don’t even understand what we did wrong.”

Well. No point in putting it off any more. “We didn’t have sex,” Avon said, fighting to keep his voice level and neutral.

Vila’s head snapped up. “What! But that’s… that’s…”

“It seems Blake didn’t ask their definition of a _bond_ – or perhaps he simply assumed that our relationship would fit within such ill-defined standards.”

“You’re saying they don’t believe that we’re bonded because we didn’t have sex.”

It was close enough, but Avon felt just peeved enough to elaborate the sordid details: “No, I’m saying they don’t believe that we’re bonded because they _drugged the food_ with some sort of concoction that is supposed to enhance sexual attraction, to, and I quote, ‘make the experience especially enjoyable for the newly bonded.’ When it didn’t work they concluded that there was no sexual attraction between us and, therefore, that we were faking the bond.” Avon closed his eyes, to avoid having to look at Vila, and forged on before he could choke on the words. “The punishment for lying about the bond is death, but apparently they are now convinced that the drug didn’t work in the usual way because we are off-worlders and they are allowing us to ‘demonstrate our bond.’ If we do, they will let us go free.”

Avon didn’t need to see to be able to pinpoint the exact moment when Vila figured out what it meant. Vila’s hands jerked back from his ankle. “No!”

Avon slowly opened his eyes again, looking down at his bound hands. “My feelings exactly.”

“But…”

“Vila, if it means my life, I _will_ do it.”

“No! It… it’d be rape!”

“I just _said_ –”

“I heard! But I can’t! That’s not consent. That’s… Avon, I’d never forgive myself for doing that to you! _You_ ’d never forgive me, not really, no matter what you say now. I don’t want _this_ to be the end of us! They have to see sense! Sex doesn’t define a relationship; this is horrible! Blake said they’re enlightened, surely they –”

“Not as enlightened as they appeared. Or at any rate their definition of _bond_ is against us, and, believe me, it wouldn’t be much different on Earth,” Avon snapped, baring his teeth in a snarl. “I am not prepared to _die_ over this, Vila. We’ve had sex. At least I know what to expect.” If Avon’s hands had been free already, he would have taken Vila by the shoulders and shaken some sense into him, but Vila’s fingers were still trembling over the cuffs at his ankles, not making any headway in getting him free.

“Listen to me,” Avon continued, “ _none_ of this is worth dying for. I’m not prepared to be executed for an educational example of sexless _bonds_ or for _your_ moral scruples, not if some minor discomfort on my part will get us out of here.”

Vila looked up, his hands stilled, hovering over the restraints. “Avon, I saw your face when I walked in.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You were terrified. Of _me_! If I do this, I’ll lose the most precious thing I’ve ever had and I can’t do it, Avon! I can’t!”

 Absurdly, Avon felt a surge of affection for him, for Vila’s steadfast insistence to respect his boundaries, for his acceptance and his defence. But this was not the place for sentiment. “You’d lose me anyway, if you don’t,” Avon said, in his coldest, sharpest tone. “To _save my life_ , Vila. I can’t stop you from throwing away yours, but I _will_ stop you from killing _me_ in the progress.”

Vila fell abruptly back, coming to sit on his heels. He was shaking all over. “Blake’ll make them see sense.”

“Blake suggested this madness in the first place! He’s as ignorant as the rest of them! He probably thought I was over-protesting when I told him that I had no desire to have sex with you, if he even remembers that.” Suddenly Avon found the situation incongruously funny. “I did tell him he should have picked a more conventional representation of a couple,” he said, with a bitter curl of his lips. But the appreciation of cruel irony did nothing to calm his continuously racing pulse, a physical reaction he refused to examine too closely.

Vila, looking appalled, dropped his lockpick and surged to his feet, turning sharply away. When he turned back, his eyes were glistening. He stepped close slowly, settling a trembling hand onto Avon’s cheek and the other on Avon’s chest, above his pounding heart. He leant in slowly, waiting for Avon to move away from the kiss, and when he didn’t, pressed his lips softly onto Avon’s. It didn’t hurt – of course it didn’t hurt. Vila was a good kisser, and Avon enjoyed kissing; how ridiculous to expect this to be… different somehow…

Except that Vila pulled back after just a moment, his hand dropping away from Avon’s head, though the one on his chest remained, feather-light. “I’m sorry,” Vila whispered. “Avon, I’m so sorry.”

That was it, then. Instinctively, Avon brazed himself, fortifying himself with the knowledge that it could, that it _had_ , on previous occasions, been fun with Vila, that –

But Vila was stepping away, quickly out of reach, and turned towards the door. A moment later, he was banging angrily against it. “Hey! You out there!”

“Vila!” Avon called, realising what Vila was doing – that the kiss hadn’t meant that Vila had given in to the pressure. The kiss had meant _goodbye_.

Vila ignored him. “Hey! Listen, you lot! I’m not doing it! If your _bond_ requires me to hurt the man I love and destroy any future we might have together, I want no part in it. You can keep your stupid trading goods, too.”

Avon climbed shakily to his feet. “Vila!”

Vila hammered on the door again, ignoring him. “Do you hear! Kill me if you really must, for blaspheming or whatever, but let Avon go! I know you’re listening! I don’t care what happens to me! You heard us. It’s not Avon’s fault. Just let him go!”

“Vila! What the hell are you _doing_?! Have you completely lost your mind?!”

Vila spun around to him finally, his face a grimace of conflicting emotions. “I made you a promise, Avon, and I’m not breaking that trust. You might not think we’re worth dying for, but I can’t do this to you. Just get out when you can, eh?”

“You _fool_ –”

But Avon never got to finish the sentence, not that he knew what he could have, would have said. Behind Vila, the door swung wide, and the silent guards from before seized Vila by the arms, pulling him out of the room. Avon’s stumble towards them, even his cry of _no_ , went completely ignored. A moment later, the door fell into lock.

  

~oOo~

 

Vila cowered miserably in the cold, damp cellar, hugging his knees. No one had spoken to him, told him what was going to happen. No one had told him what was happening to Avon, either. He just hoped Blake could do _something_. Vila might be dead, but Avon shouldn’t have to be, not because Vila was a sentimental fool and a coward. Not because of some backwards perception of what a relationship needed to be. Perceptions like that had already hurt Avon, far too often for Vila to be able to bear doing it again.

But the alternative was unthinkable. At least death was familiar. Vila didn’t think he could have faced Avon’s slow simmering resentment, eating away at them, if he’d done it. He didn’t think he could have lived with himself. He was better off dead, even if he’d never planned on dying...

Vila never wanted any stranger to see something so private, but if only there’d been a way the Masnachi could have shared their memories, seen the way it had been, the last time, with Avon. That’d have shut them up – but then, even the principle of the thing made Vila sick. His relationship with Avon was real, and not just because they happened to have sex occasionally. If the Masnachi _bond_ didn’t allow for that, he didn’t want to be bonded. And besides, if he’d gone through with it, that would have made him as bad as the people who’d hurt Avon in the past – as bad as the people who had hurt _Vila_ in prison.

 _You picked one hell of a time to grow some morals, Restal_ , he thought, despairingly.

But now that his mind had settled on it, he remembered that last time with Avon all too clearly. In fact, even that last time, the sex hadn’t been the best bit. The best bit always came afterwards, when Vila was sleepy and Avon was relaxed, and, feeling maudlin and sorry for himself, Vila thought back…

 

_Vila nibbled gentle at Avon’s ear lobe, a light hold that slipped free when Avon turned his head under the shower spray._

_“Don’t be ridiculous,” Avon said, “you’re barely awake.”_

_“Not everything I do is foreplay, Avon,” Vila mumbled, barely loud enough to be heard over the water. Avon always insisted they cleaned up right afterwards; he despised the sticky mess._

_“It was when you were doing it earlier,” Avon said, rinsing them both down._

_“I just like doing it.”_

_“All right.” Avon reached around him, switching off the water, and steered Vila gently out of the shower and into the embrace of a towel. When Vila was wrapped in its folds, Avon let go to take a second towel for himself before he allowed Vila to pull him close again with an amused sound in the back of his throat._

_So Vila liked to cuddle, after. He knew that Avon just loved the_ after _, probably more than the actual sex – no, definitely more than the actual sex._

_“Bed?”_

_“Mmm,” Vila said cleverly. Avon also always made sure that the bed was still fit to sleep in. Once, Vila had got a bit carried away and Avon had made him stay up until the sheets had been changed. Avon hadn’t been unkind about it – he never treated Vila with anything other than gentleness, after, as if Vila were fragile and vulnerable, which he supposed he was, in this half-asleep state. Still, Vila hadn’t liked the delay to the sleepy cuddling and had been more careful since._

_Avon’s hands were rubbing over him, towelling him off even as he steered them back to the bed. He lowered Vila down, and followed with a small breathless laugh when Vila pulled at him._

_“Mmm, Avon.” Vila snuggled happily up to him, boneless and clinging all at once. Avon hadn’t wanted to be brought off – a good number of Vila’s previous partners wouldn’t have left off until they had come, too, but Avon was perfectly content, his fingers spiking up Vila’s damp hair._

_“If I didn’t know you could be slightly more coherent occasionally…” Avon said, a smile in his voice._

_“If you wanted me coherent you shouldn’t have indulged me.”_

_“Hm, probably not. We could try a game of chess?”_

_“Chess! Don’t be ridiculous, Av’n.”_

_“It might be amusing.”_

_“For you, maybe. Shuddup. Sometimes I think you only have sex because you like getting the last word.”_

_“What if I told you you wouldn’t be wrong?” Avon shot back, but his eyes were still glinting with unholy mirth._

_Sleepy, Vila pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips and flopped back down, stretched out alongside Avon. “Exhausting, you are.”_

 

~oOo~ _  
_

 

“Avon! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!” Blake barged into the room Avon had been locked up in for indeterminable hours with the force of a thunderstorm. “I _know_ that the requirement of proof is distasteful, but we _need_ these supplies! Couldn’t you even bring yourself to respect these people’s culture, just for once, not even for our own gain–” Blake dragged in a deep breath and continued, cutting anger reigned in under a façade of calm, “You agreed to the mission. If you or Vila have a reason to sabotage the arrangement with the Masnachi, I wish you would _tell me_. Am I not owed at least that much honesty?”

It cost Avon an enormous effort to not flinch back from the force that was an angry Blake. It was one thing to weather that force on the flight deck, where he felt secure in his position, it was quite another to do so half-clothed, still shaking with a torrent of conflicting emotions and sitting on a bed on which he had very nearly been raped. At least he’d been able to use Vila’s discarded lockpicks to free himself from the chains, even if it had taken him a long time, and he’d been unable to do anything about the barred door.

Frankly, he’d barely processed the things Blake had shouted, a single thought clamouring for attention in his mind. “Have they killed him?” he asked, forcing his voice to be blank and calm, and going against all instinct, unfolded his legs and stood up by the bed to face Blake. He wanted to be on his feet for the news.

Blake gaped at him, thrown off track. “What?”

“Vila. Have they killed him already?”

Blake’s jaw worked, but no sound came out of his mouth, and all of a sudden Avon understood.

“Ah,” he said, sinking wearily back onto the mattress. “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they.”

Blake’s eyes darted over him, pausing to note the chains still laying at the bottom of the bed and the bruises developing on Avon’s feet. “Avon, what happened?”

“Did they tell you what was at stake?” Avon asked back tonelessly. “Did they even tell you what they were asking us to do?”

“They only asked for proof of your relationship with Vila.” Blake bent down to examine the chains.

“And you’d assumed they’d be satisfied with a mere kiss?”

“I… suppose I assumed that if you were given another chance to be with each other as you naturally would, they would realise that it was a misunderstanding.” Blake turned away from the bindings, clearly disturbed. “The Masnachi aren’t known for being violent…”

“Except that the punishment hanging over our heads was torture and death.” Avon felt impossibly tired, barely able to move at all. He stared at his hands to avoid Blake’s increasingly horrified expression, brushing his thumb over the opposite hand in a senseless motion. “They were asking for us to have sex, for a proof, Blake. And before you ask, yes, I was in chains at the time. If you still want to berate us for not going through with it now, go ahead.”

Even barely looking at him, Avon didn’t miss the sharp flare of righteous anger in Blake’s eyes, nor the fact that it was no longer directed at him. “Avon, I had no idea.” Blake sat on the bed beside Avon, in a gesture that was clearly meant to be reassuring, but was anything but. Avon stiffened, trying to lock the flinch under his skin.

“What happened to Vila?” Blake asked.

“He refused. Made a scene. They took him away.”

“You asked whether they’d killed him.”

“It’s what they threatened us with, if we failed to prove our _bond_.”

“I wasn’t told. When they said you’d failed to provide proof during your second chance, I demanded to see you and was taken straight here. I’m sorry, Avon.”

Avon accepted the apology with a nod, despair clawing at his throat. “What were these supplies worth, Blake?”

“Never this. I’ll see that you both return to the ship.” Blake stood, then paused. “Perhaps…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Avon glanced up to him. “What now?”

Blake grimaced. “We really do need those supplies.”

“I’m aware.”

“Avon, I hate that I’m even suggesting this, but do you think you could, somehow, back on the ship…”

“If he is still alive, you mean?” Avon felt his lips twist bitterly. “When I told you that Vila’s and my relationship was out of the ordinary I meant it in more ways than one, Blake.”

Blake looked as though he might apologise again, but he only said, “It’s really none of my business. We need the both of you more urgently than any supplies.”

“If,” Avon forged on, before he lost his nerve entirely, “you could convince the Masnachi to recognise asexuality, I might just start believing in your revolution.” Once, he might have enjoyed surprising Blake with that little fact about him and Vila, at some undetermined point in the future. Now, he couldn’t even bring himself to look up and see the understanding dawn on Blake’s face.

“When you said,” Blake began, “that you had no interest in…”

“Having sex with Vila? I was being quite literal. So no, we won’t… demonstrate, not even back on the ship.” Avon shrugged. “Not that it would have made this situation any more tasteful, but if our relationship _had_ been based on mutual sexual attraction, the Masnachi might not have found us so reluctant to give into the effects when they drugged our meal.”

Blake pulled in a sharp, angry breath. Suddenly, something dropped onto the bed beside Avon, and when he glanced over, he recognised it as a teleport bracelet. He looked up at Blake, uncomprehending.

“It’s mine. Put it on and have Cally teleport you up, then ask her to come down. I will locate Vila and meet her at the outskirts. We should never have come here.”

 

 ~oOo~

 

Vila nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a commotion at the door, and exclaimed in ill-disguised relief when it was Blake who entered. “Blake! Where’s Avon?”

Blake’s forehead was creased in an angry frown. “Back on the _Liberator_ by now. Let’s go, Vila.”

“Go? But…”

“No amount of supplies is worth the lives of two of my crew.” Blake pulled him to his feet. “We need to hurry. Cally’ll come down with spare bracelets, but we need to get out of here and meet her.”

“What happened to the guards?” Vila asked, letting himself be drawn into the corridor and up the stairs.

“They are investigating Avon’s disappearance. There’s a side entrance, but it’s locked. Can you open it?”

“I left my tool with Avon.”

“Here.” Blake pressed it into his hand, pushing him towards the door. “Be quick, Vila.”

The lock was uncommonly primitive, but easy. Vila released a tense breath, getting to work. “Is Avon all right?”

“They didn’t touch him after you were separated.”

“Ah. Good.” Vila fell silent, working on the lock and trying very hard not to think. He was getting practiced at bottling up the nervous adrenalin, though he much preferred bottling up the liquid variant, all things considered. At least the lock gave him something to focus on other than the memory of Avon’s face when he’d last seen him.

Scarcely a minute later they were running, darting through the shadows of the dusk falling on the Masnachi camp, and circling round to their teleport location. Cally was waiting for them, a weapon at the ready and two bracelets dangling from her belt.

“Vila, are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah. Is Avon–”

“Safe.”

Blake placed a reassuring hand on his elbow for a moment, then raised his arm to call the ship.

Avon was at the teleport console, still barefoot and looking wan. “Jenna is on the flight deck,” he said to Blake as soon as they had fully materialised, barely even looking at Vila. “Do we leave?”

“The Masnachi have no weapons capable of destroying the _Liberator_ – we needn’t rush.” Blake stripped off his bracelet and held his hand out for Vila and Cally’s. “But we’ll better keep an eye on things. Get those bruises seen to.”

“I’ll do it,” Vila volunteered immediately, earning himself a faint smile from Blake, but no reaction at all from Avon.

“I thought you might,” Blake said, stowing away the bracelets. “Flight deck, Cally?”

“Yes,” Cally said and followed him out, leaving a parting _I am glad you are all right, Vila_ lingering in Vila’s mind.

Then, there was only an awkward silence and the sounds of the _Liberator_ under his feet.

Avon broke the stalemate first, pushing to his feet with a sigh. “We better get this over with.”

“Avon…”

Avon indicated the corridor. “After you.”

His skin crawling, Vila moved, jerkily putting a foot before the other, down to the medical unit. “Avon, I…”

Avon didn’t respond, and Vila’s throat closed up. Avon remained a half-step behind him and neither of them spoke again until they had arrived in the medical unit and Avon was sitting sideways on one of the beds.

“What a mess,” Avon commented softly. He looked smaller, somehow, with his eyes downcast and his bare feet dangling from the bed.

“Avon, I’m sorry!” Vila blurted, fumbling the regenerator.

Avon looked up at him, meeting his eyes for only a moment. “What are you sorry for? For convincing me to stay? For not raping me when I asked you to? For risking my life? For risking _your_ life?”

“I don’t know! Avon, what are you saying? You can’t mean I should have…”

“Give me the regenerator,” Avon said simply, holding out his hand for it.

But Vila sidestepped it. “No, I’ll do it. If you let me?”

Avon’s hand dropped again. “Fine. And no. You’re right. I don’t think I could have forgiven you if you had.”

As he crouched down, Vila could see Avon’s hands clenching on the edge of the bed. He shimmied the regenerator over Avon’s ankles first, removing the light abrasions left by the manacles. “But you’re angry,” Vila murmured, trying to comprehend.

Avon sighed. “If it hadn’t been… sex. If they’d asked you to, say, torture me so we could both walk free, would you have done it?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to hurt you, Avon! I suppose I might have, if I could be sure that it wouldn’t do any lasting harm. If you’d known why I was doing it. But, it wasn’t that! I made you a _promise_. Don’t you think it’s different?”

“Yes. It’s different,” Avon said. He pulled his right foot out of Vila’s grasp, letting him attend to the left. “I expect sentiment and stupidity from Blake. I expect _you_ to save our lives, no matter what it takes.”

“Avon…”

“I don’t want you to die for me,” Avon went on, so softly that Vila barely understood him.

Vila paused in his ministrations to look up and found Avon’s face averted and closed off, his shoulders tense. “That’s it?” Vila whispered back. “That’s why you’re angry?” Abruptly, Avon’s posture reminded Vila of when he’d first seen him, in drab prison coveralls, lost and hurt and alone. Only, if Vila had anything to do with it, Avon would never be alone like that again.

Avon moved, at least releasing the white knuckled grip on the bed, but he only toyed with his own fingers. “I don’t think I am. Angry, that is. Not at you, anyways.”

“I’ll try not to get killed, then, in the future. Never planned on dying, anyway. Problem solved,” Vila said, with put-on lightness.

The corners of Avon’s mouth twitched for the briefest of moments, almost but not quite a smile. “Vila, I don’t want any stupid and heroic grand gestures from you. I wouldn’t have picked you for a partner if I did.”

“That right?” Vila finished with the regenerator and stood stiffly. He still felt sore and tired, himself. “Then I don’t want any of them from you, either. You should practice what you preach, Avon.”

Avon made a soft, light sound, almost a chuckle. “Touché.”

“Eh?”

“It means,” Avon said lightly and trailed his hand gently down Vila’s arm, “you make a valid argument.”

Vila clasped Avon’s hand as soon as it was in reach. “Anyways, you’re far better than those small minded people down there on that planet.”

This time, Avon did smile, a small, crooked thing.

Vila met his eyes for a moment, then untangled their hands. “Oh, shouldn’t have said that. If your ego gets any bigger, it won’t fit the _Liberator_ anymore.”

After a moment, there was an answering gleam of mischievous humour in Avon’s eyes, but the internal communications interrupted them before he could respond.

It was Blake, sounding impatient and annoyed: “Avon, Vila, if you’re done there, could you come to the flight deck for a moment.” The phrase was structured like a question, but had the intonation of an order.

Vila groaned. Avon stood from the bed, testing his stance. Vila knew from experience that the newly healed skin would tingle painfully for a little while longer.

“You better go,” Avon told him. “I should find some shoes, first.”

“Right.”

 

Blake had awaited their arrival and immediately turned to him when Vila came down the steps. “Where’s Avon?”

“Getting changed. What’s going on?”

“We’re being called from the planet,” Jenna explained, and Blake added, “I would prefer to have your opinions.”

Vila settled miserably at his console. “Well, let’s hear it then. Better to get it over with.”

“Should we not wait for Avon–?” Cally began but Vila shook his head.

“Better not. I might get tempted to blow the whole place up if he’s here.”

Jenna threw him a surprised and reproachful look, but Blake just gestured at Cally to accept the call.

“ – Blake. Reading me?”

“Marin!” Blake exclaimed, in surprise.

“He’s sending on an open frequency. Hardly safe, Blake,” Jenna said.

“We’ll make it quick. Answer, Cally.”

Cally nodded, and Blake addressed himself to the audio pickup. “I’m here, Marin.”

“Blake.” No longer _Roj_ , Vila noted. “I call to apologise.”

“I understand that there were… unresolvable cultural differences,” Blake said tersely.

Vila snorted and bit his lip against a sharp snap that would have been more like Avon than himself.

“We are not of one mind, Blake,” Marin said, haltingly. “Is your crew safe?”

“Yes,” Blake responded curtly.

“I was obliged to report what I thought was a gross disrespect of our most sacred principles, but… I will not lie. There are many here who still believe that Avon and Vila should die. I… am not one of them. I believe we witnessed proof of a _bond_ – we might not understand its kind, but a real _bond_ nonetheless. The _bond_ is sacred to us, Blake. I am transmitting to you the coordinates at which you will find the trade supplies, and hope that they repay the wrong we have done to your crew.”

Blake glanced at Vila, as if expecting an opinion – but Vila had no idea what to say. It seemed a poor apology, somehow. “Could be a trap.”

“I don’t think so,” Avon’s voice came suddenly from behind him, and a moment later Avon’s weight settled against the side of Vila’s chair as he leant there, their shoulders almost brushing. “Marin has nothing to gain, now. Take the supplies, Blake. At least it won’t have been for nothing.”

Blake nodded. “Have we the coordinates, Cally?”

“Yes.”

“We accept the supplies, Marin,” Blake said into the audio pickup, his voice still cold – accepting the supplies, if not the apology.

“Understood,” Marin said, sounding somehow saddened. “Farewell, Blake.”

The voice contact cut off, and Blake sighed, releasing some of the tension. “We better go down while it’s still dark. Cally? Bring a gun. Avon, Vila, you better remain on board.”

“I have no intention of setting foot on that planet again,” Avon said, “but at least you have sense enough not to go unarmed this time.”

Blake shot him a glance, but Vila thought it looked fondly exasperated rather than actually annoyed. “I will take your watch, after,” Blake said firmly. “Get some rest.” With that, he strode from the flight deck, following in Cally’s wake. 

  

~oOo~

 

Avon didn’t protest when Vila immediately steered him from the flight deck and down to their cabins, stopping only at the door.

“Your cabin or mine?”

“Mine,” Avon responded automatically, before he could consider why. He opened the door, but they both hovered in the threshold.

“Avon…” Vila nervously plucked at his own sleeve. “Would you rather be alone?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Avon shook his head, a bitter smile pulling at his lips. “No.” Frankly, he hadn’t been quite sure of his emotions since the Masnachi had brought Vila to him, expecting them to have sex on command. It _mattered_ that Vila hadn’t done it, but Avon wasn’t quite sure how to move on from there.

He stepped finally into his room, feeling a little better in its familiarity. He’d been here earlier, of course, to collect his shoes, and had wondered, for a moment, whether he should even bother to go to the flight deck at all. Now, he was glad that he hadn’t hidden away – but the impulse to do so now was still there, and with it the uncertainty of whether he wanted Vila close – or as far away as possible.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Vila was saying. “We could just cuddle. Or just sleep. Or just talk.”

Avon sat on the bed, pulling off the shoes and opening his jacket. “Come in and close the door.”

Vila finally stepped inside, though he lingered at the door. “I could use a shower.”

“So shower.”

“What about you?”

“We’ll take turns,” Avon said. He didn’t miss the twist of hurt that flickered over Vila’s face, nor the answering knot in his own stomach at that hurt.

“All right,” Vila mumbled softly and fled into the bathroom.

Avon waited for him and immediately took his place as soon as Vila was done, not daring to pause and look him over. When he came back out, towelling off his hair, Vila sat at the table, wrapped in a borrowed robe, and morosely twisted a chess piece between his fingers.

Avon sighed and sat down opposite him, dropping the towel across the armrest of the chair. “I don’t know if I can, Vila.”

Vila’s fingers stilled. “‘m not asking for anything.”

“No, you never do, do you.” It was true. Vila had never pushed, not in the way Avon was used to. He whined and cajoled and teased, but with Vila, there was a lot of give, and very little take.

Avon reached out, laying his hand over Vila’s. There was comfort in the contact, well-remembered closeness. “I know you agreed to this… relationship without expectations, Vila, but if this means that I will never again be prepared to have sex…”

“I don’t care.”

“Be very sure. Because if you’re not–”

“I don’t care!” Vila exclaimed, more forcefully. “I never cared, Avon, not from the moment you told me you were asexual. You _know_ I never cared. I don’t want to lose you!”

Avon drew his hand back, if only to hide a tremble at the declaration from Vila. It needed to be said, if only… “Listen carefully,” he began, carefully removing any shred of fragile emotion from his voice, “if there is any expectation, any at all that we will have sex again, we ought to terminate this relationship right now.”

“There isn’t,” Vila said firmly, and reclaimed Avon’s hand, calloused fingers brushing over his skin in oh so well remembered gestures. His hand was warm, the grip gentle. “I gave you my word, Avon. That still stands. They couldn’t even drug me into it, remember?”

“All too clearly.”

“Let’s have a cuddle and sleep, eh? We’ll feel better in the morning.”

Avon let Vila draw him to the bed, and found that he could settle down without any surge of trepidation. Instead, Vila’s warmth was familiar, reassuring, and no matter where he directed his thoughts, that familiarity wouldn’t fade away. He relaxed, just a fraction. “All right.”

“Eh?”

“I believe you, I think.”

“Oh.” Vila snuck his arm around Avon’s shoulders. “That’s good.”

“Yes, probably.” Avon curled onto his side, resting his head against Vila’s shoulder, cradled in Vila’s arm. “Why do you stay with me, Vila?”

“For all the questions when I’m falling asleep,” Vila mumbled.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Vila’s hand brushed slow circles over his back and neck. “I like you, Avon. You’re clever and fun and you actually like me for me.”

“And the sex?”

“Was good, but I won’t miss it half as much as I’d miss the whole of you.”

“Hm.”

“Can we sleep now, Avon, eh? We've both had a nasty shock and ‘m tired, y’know.”

“Yes, all right.”

  

~oOo~

 

Vila woke to Avon stirring restlessly, pulling away from Vila’s hold. “‘von? Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Avon responded, but his voice was cold and clipped. There was tugging on the blankets.

Vila blinked blearily, trying to make out what Avon was doing. “Did I steal the blankets?”

“No. Go back to sleep, Vila.”

Vila forced sleep-ladden limbs to move and tried to pat at him, but Avon had sat up and Vila’s uncoordinated movement only hit the mattress. “Avon? Can’t sleep?”

“If you were going to suggest,” Avon said, very quietly, very coldly, “that an orgasm might help with that, _don’t_. Don’t even joke about it.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Vila pushed himself up to his elbows, trying to make out Avon’s face in the dim light. But Avon was leaning forward over knees drawn to his chest, his face averted. At least the blanket was still over his knees and he wasn’t moving to get up. “Talk to me, Avon?” Vila was used to Avon’s moods, but this… this felt different. It had to be, after the day they’d had.

“It isn’t anything. Go back to sleep.”

Any other time, Vila might have let him be, but not now. “You give a good impression of it being something.”

Avon sighed. It wasn’t a large intake of breath, more a small, sad sound. “What’s the point?” he mumbled.

“The point?”

Avon looked back at him for a moment, then turned away to speak again to the empty air before him. “What’s the point of sex, if it always leaves behind a mess and at best sends your partner to sleep? If I wanted you asleep, there’d be more efficient ways.”

Blinking, Vila forced himself to think. “Sometimes, sleeping after is the point. Release of tension and all that. Besides, the fun is in the act, and that’s worth putting up with the odd mess – I doubt I’d have enjoyed those other methods of putting me to sleep quite as much.” Vila kept his voice light, but he couldn’t help but wonder whether Avon was thinking of a less literal mess. He’d already known that he would have to give Avon time – in many ways, it felt like when they had first got together, when it had taken Avon a while to believe that Vila had no expectations of him. It had been worth it then, and it’d be worth it now. Vila could be infinitely patient if it was worth it.

Avon huffed, not quite amused. His shoulders shifted under the shirt he’d worn to bed. “Is it worth the mess? Is it really?”

Vila’d been right, then. “Look, Avon, I told you I don’t care if we never do it again.”

“Yes, you said.”

“You aren’t sitting there believing the nonsense from the planet, that it’s only a _bond_ if we have sex, are you?”

“Of course not!” Avon spat, but he didn’t turn around. 

Vila let himself flop back down to the mattress. “Let’s go back to sleep, eh?”

Wordlessly, Avon lay back down by his side, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Their bodies barely touched. Vila watched his face – it was set in a peculiar expression, Avon’s teeth worrying at his bottom lip before he seemed to catch himself and stopped with an exhale. He didn’t much look like the daytime Avon like this, but Vila could almost feel the tension radiating off him.

“What do you need, Avon?” Vila asked him, as gently as he could.

Avon moved his head on the pillow, almost a declining headshake. “I don’t know if I can fall back asleep.”

“So we’ll stay awake.”

“So you have an excuse to sleep on watch later?” Avon said, sounding more like himself than he had since Vila had first woken up. “I don’t need to keep you up,” he went on, in a much softer voice.

Vila shifted onto his side, turning towards him. “Wouldn’t mind a cuddle.”

Avon looked back at him, a shadow with mussed hair, the night light catching his eyes. “Is that an offer or a demand?”

“Never a demand. Request, maybe?”

“I see.”

Vila sighed. “Avon, come here.” He laid an arm gently over Avon’s waist, giving a light tug. Avon let himself be turned, and only then did Vila tighten his grip, preventing an escape, and drew Avon close. He nestled his head against Avon’s, letting his warmth and his scent seep into him. Avon didn’t much want spooning, as a general rule, but now he lay still and quiet against Vila, even as Vila shifted closer yet, fitting them tightly together.

Vila shifted his hand over Avon’s heart, noting that the beat was steady and calm. Whatever Avon was thinking, there was no sign of the fear that Vila had witnessed on the planet and never wanted to see again.

“Do you want to talk?” Vila asked softly, his breath stirring Avon’s hair.

“Not particularly.”

Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to Vila and wouldn’t go away. He’d joked, once, that, if Avon would allow it, Vila would like to call him by a nickname in private – Starshine, in honour of the most complex lock ever invented. Vila had always known that Avon was complex, but he thought they understood each other well enough most of the time. Now, abruptly, he wasn’t sure whether he’d read Avon correctly at all, and the alternative was terrifying. He had moments like this with locks before - a moment of quiet, just long enough to wonder whether you'd done something wrong, before the alarms went off. With an effort, Vila kept himself from clenching his fist in Avon’s shirt, trying to cling onto the fact that Avon’s pulse was slow and steady. “Avon, do you want us to break up?”

Avon tensed, shifting a little. “No,” he said finally, though it sounded strained.

“I’d leave, if you tell me to.”

“I know. Don’t, Vila.” Avon’s hand suddenly settled over his with a soft squeeze. “Just go back to sleep.”

“So you can sneak off and be alone and miserable and not here in the morning?”

Avon’s fingers moved over his, not quite a caress. “You didn’t ask to be miserable with me.”

Not quite trusting his voice, Vila just hushed him and tightened his hold. Absurdly, that seemed to drain the tension out of Avon, and Vila felt him relax back into the embrace.

“I’m not prepared to lose you, either, Vila,” Avon whispered, barely stirring, “for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Hm. We agree, then,” Vila said dryly. “Good thing none of the others are here to witness this; might ruin your reputation.”

To Vila’s delight, Avon chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. “Oh, will you go to sleep, Vila?”

“All right. Avon?”

“Hm?”

“We’re all right, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Sleep, Vila.”

Vila snuggled down and, just before he let himself drift off, sighed theatrically. “Oh no. I’ll never live down _you_ having to tell me _that_ twice.” 

The sound of Avon’s light laughter followed him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who want more detailed warnings: 
> 
> The premise of this fic is a trope subversion of "Aliens Made Them Do It" (the non-consensual drug use and acephobia are part of this) which I abhor with a passion precisely for the consent issues. Therefore, the "Implied/Referenced Rape" tag does indeed refer to plot relevant situations between Avon and Vila and not to past/"off screen" events. However, since it's a subversion of the trope, having sex without the possibility of free consent is a) portrayed as absolutely unacceptable and b) doesn't actually end up happening (though there is a moment where one of them thinks that it will). 
> 
> So despite the subversion, the situations and some of the emotional impact are there and I'd rather overwarn with triggering topics, but just to reiterate again: at no point in this fic do Avon and Vila rape one another or actively intend to do so. There is also a happy ending.


End file.
